


In This Life and the Next

by cowpuppy



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Blame it on the Alcohol and Waltzing, Creampuff Week, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowpuppy/pseuds/cowpuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura travels through time to the night that Carmilla became a vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This Life and the Next

She wasn’t sure how she’d arrived here, or how she was going to get back, but that didn’t matter.

 _She_ was here, too, and Laura couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Carmilla looked as she’d always looked, the angles of her face the work of a master sculptor, her hair long and dark and beautiful. Jewels and silks flowed around her.

But there was something different. Laura inched around the ballroom, eyes always on Carmilla.

It was her eyes, her smile, the ease with which the corners of her lips turned upward and the corners of her eyes crinkled.

This was Carmilla, unbitten, still human, in the last flush of her mortal life.

Laura swallowed, blinking as the implications needled her. This Carmilla did not know her, had never saved her, had never loved her… if it was in fact Carmilla before she had become, well, _Carmilla_.

There was only one way to find out.

She made her way toward the other girl, weaving around other guests, trying her best to remain unnoticed. Despite the time (for she had clearly traveled in time, somehow, and had already scanned the area for a TARDIS and found none), she managed, some little voice in her head directing her eyes and her body so she appeared little more than a decently-dressed girl in a crowd of society’s most beautiful women.

Near enough to Carmilla that she could be spotted, Laura fixed her gaze on the other girl, and waited. Carmilla chatted, her lips parted in laughter, and Laura sighed. The longer she watched, the more sure she became that this was not her Carmilla.

But she had to be completely sure.

Finally— _finally!_ —Carmilla’s eyes met hers, and the other girl did a double take, her face creasing as Laura stared. She excused herself and floated to Laura’s side.

“Pardon me,” she said. “Do I know you?”

Laura’s lungs clenched, but she forced a smile onto her face. “No, sorry. I just couldn’t help myself… you’re beautiful.”

 _Bold, Hollis_.

Carmilla blushed— _actually blushed!_ —and lowered her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

Laura intended to press further—she couldn’t help it, this was better than if Carmilla had miraculously conjured baby photos of herself—but someone appeared beside them.

The Dean.

Laura recoiled, but Carmilla lit up, grasping the Dean’s hand and gushing over how beautiful she looked. The Dean leaned closer, lips brushing Carmilla’s ear, and whispered something that turned the other girl bright red.

“Mircalla, darling,” drawled the older woman. “I haven’t seen you all night.”

“I know, I’m so sorry,” said Carmilla. “You know how these things are. It’s so hard to get away.” She cast an apologetic glance in Laura’s direction. “It was lovely to meet you…”

“Laura.” The girl in question had lost control of her faculties, and inventing a pseudonym was beyond her.

“Laura.” Carmilla—Mircalla—smiled. “Perhaps I’ll see you later.”

She walked away, arm-in-arm with her murderer, and Laura could only watch.

* * *

 

With no conceivable way to escape the past and the sight of Carmilla _canoodling_ with the Dean, Laura turned instead to the refreshments.

Specifically, the champagne.

It was not champagne as she knew it, but it did the trick. By the time the dancing started, Laura’s cheeks burned and her head swam and her nose tingled.

She watched as Carmilla danced with men young and old, smiling, laughing, her cheeks filling with pink as they paid her pretty compliments.

That was all right.

But the Dean was there, always there, her eyes on Carmilla, a wolfish smile on her lips. And when the Dean stepped in to ask for a dance— _two women dancing! How delightfully odd!_ said the crowd—Laura nearly broke the glass in her hand.

She forced her way through the crowd, to the edge where the men waited to ask the women to dance, and watched the pair as they twirled. Carmilla flushed right to the collar of her gown, and the Dean’s hands moved just a sliver beyond propriety.

Laura clenched her fists.

The music changed, and she darted in, forcing a smile as she edged the Dean aside. Carmilla cast the older woman a wistful glance, but when Laura reached out and let their fingers brush, Carmilla’s eyes snapped to hers.

That was it, there it was, those eyes, that feeling in her chest, and their fingers intertwined and Laura pulled them into the dance. She didn’t know the steps, but Carmilla led her, a hand on her waist, and Laura grinned.

“You’re very eager,” said Carmilla, smiling the same half-smile she would perfect later in life. A life she would not live if Laura stepped between her and the Dean.

“I told you, I think you’re beautiful. I couldn’t let that woman steal you for the entire night.”

“Oh, but she’s wonderful.” Carmilla’s eyes flitted to the Dean, who watched them twirl with a greedy glint beneath her lashes.

Silence wormed its way between them, Carmilla’s head filled with thoughts of the Dean and Laura’s filled with thoughts of Carmilla.

Then the music changed again, and the Dean stepped forward to reclaim her prize.

Laura gulped, fingers loosening around Carmilla’s. But then Carmilla tightened her grip, staring at Laura with a stricken expression. Before Laura or the Dean could protest, Carmilla whisked Laura back onto to dance floor.

“Pardon me,” said Carmilla. “I… I can’t quite seem to let you go.” She narrowed her eyes at Laura. “Are you some kind of enchantress?”

Laura laughed as Carmilla spun her. “No, definitely not.”

“Curious.” Carmilla shook her head. “I was a poor partner in our last dance. Please, let me make it up to you?”

“Hmm. You can try.”

* * *

 

Carmilla was as good as her word, peppering their dance with conversation, and Laura returned in kind, though she steered their conversation away from anything too topical.

They pressed closer as they danced and Laura remembered a sparkling moment in their shared future, as a hard-faced, seductive Carmilla compared waltzing to sex and lit Laura’s world on fire.

By the time Carmilla leaned in and whispered that they should find a more private location, Laura understood the vampire’s assertion. Her chest heaved, her muscles ached, and when they pulled apart, she yearned to be closer. Her fingers tangled with Carmilla’s and they slipped into the hall.

Carmilla knew the castle and Laura followed, squeezing Carmilla’s hand, suppressing her giggling as Carmilla smiled.

They tumbled against a wall, and then Laura’s lips were on Carmilla’s, and when the other girl gasped, Laura grinned and pressed harder.

“Who _are_ you?” whispered Carmilla. “I feel as though I have known you my entire life, but we’ve only just met.”

“I know what you mean,” said Laura, trailing kisses across Carmilla’s jaw.

They both froze as the Dean’s voice filtered through the hum of the party.

“Mircalla, darling! Where have you run off to?”

Carmilla began to speak but Laura clapped her hand over the other girl’s mouth, shaking her head, and whatever expression had crept into her face startled the young countess into silence.

“Mircalla! Mircalla!” The Dean wandered down the halls, shoes clicking, and Laura leaned into Carmilla, arms thrown about her neck. She shivered, and Carmilla held her close, one hand to the back of her head and the other on the small of her back.

When the Dean disappeared, Carmilla brushed a finger beneath Laura’s chin and tipped her head so that their eyes met. “Why does she frighten you so?”

“She… she isn’t what she seems,” said Laura. “She's a monster who will prey on you if she finds you.”

“What a ghastly thing to say…”

But Carmilla did not pull away. She regarded Laura quietly, a frown building on her lips.

Laura clutched Carmilla’s fingers. “I know we just met, but please. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Are you an angel?”

Laura pulled back. “What?”

“You’ve appeared in my life with no warning, and with one touch I felt as though I should never desire to let you go. Your kisses are more powerful than anything I could ever have imagined, and you tell me of a monster, a monster I thought I…” Her face turned red. “If not by the providence of God, how can this be?”

“I don’t know,” said Laura. “I really don’t. I don’t know how I got here, or why, but...”

She watched Carmilla, suddenly at a loss for words, and a terrible thought overcame her.

If she protected Carmilla from the Dean, prevented her from ever being bitten, she would not live to see the twenty-first century. She would die as a human hundreds of years before Laura was even born. What would happen to Laura’s memories, then? Would it create a paradox? Would she simply forget every bit of her history with Carmilla, the love they shared?

Carmilla would never be turned. She would never be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of young women. She would never be trapped in a coffin for decades, mourning the loss of the one woman she had loved.

“You can’t associate with that woman anymore,” said Laura. “Have her sent away, have her killed, whatever you have to do. She will kill you if she has the chance.”

“Yes, of course, I—what… what’s happening?”

“Huh?”

“You… are you a ghost? You’re disappearing!”

A quick check proved Carmilla’s words true. Laura bit her lip. This was the moment of truth.

“I love you,” she said to Carmilla. “I love you so much. Be safe. Be happy. Please? Be happy. Live this life to the fullest. And I know everyone calls you Mircalla, but… to me, you’ve always been Carmilla.”

She reached toward Carmilla and dragged her into one last kiss, a thing of teeth and tongues, of roving hands, of tears spilling from Laura's eyes. There was nothing but them, their bodies pressed together, the breaths they shared.

Then there was nothing at all.

* * *

 

“How’s the work going, Hollis?”

Laura glanced at Danny, reclined against the counter. Her ex looked good. Her hair had just begun to gray at the temples, and with her thick glasses perched on her nose, she seemed wiser than her years. She looked very good.

“Good,” said Laura, on the opposite side of the kitchen. “I’m writing a piece on unusually powerful or independent historical female figures, ones that haven't gotten a lot of public attention before."

Danny grinned. "That sounds like something I'd like to read."

Laura chuckled. "It would. Didn't you know? Your raging feminism was one of the reasons I married you."

"Hm. I thought it was the fact that I was head over heels in love with you."

"That helped." Laura smiled; she and Danny had lived a roller coaster of a relationship, coming together and splitting apart more times than Laura could count before they finally, amicably, acknowledged that they just wouldn't stick.

"How are you?" asked Danny. "Any new women in your life?"

Laura shrugged. "No. But that's all right," she said, when Danny frowned. "I keep myself busy."

"Laura," said Danny. "I like to think I know you better than almost anyone on the planet. And I know you're lonely."

"Well, what am I supposed to do about that, Danny? I'm not going to spend time trying to force a relationship that won't work. I did that once and while I don't regret it, don't pretend that we wouldn't have been happier if we'd made our first break-up permanent."

Danny crossed her arms. "How will you find someone if you don't put yourself out there?"

"I don't know, I--" Laura threw up her hands. "I know there's someone out there for me but I..."

She wrung her hands. "The day I went to Silas, I felt something. Like I was supposed to meet someone incredibly important. And I met you and you were amazing and gorgeous and I thought that feeling was pointing me to you.

"But with everything that happened... all those girls who went missing and we never figured out what happened... I knew it wasn't you. And then we graduated and I thought, 'well, that's it. I missed my chance.'"

"What if you go back?"

"What?"

"Go back to Silas. You could probably be a guest lecturer or something, I mean you're an alum and a brilliant writer. I'm sure they'd take you."

"Back to Silas...?"

Laura pursed her lips, staring at the floor between them. Danny pushed off the counter and crossed to Laura.

"I'm not going to pretend I understand this feeling you've got. But I know you, remember? You won't be happy until you've chased this lead to the bottom of the fox hole."

Laura looked up to find Danny smiling down at her, her eyes lined with a shadow of sadness. "You're right," said Laura. "I have to do it." She reached up, laid one hand on Danny's shoulder, and lifted herself on her toes. Danny bent down, the instinct strong after years of practice, and Laura placed a feather-light kiss to the redhead's cheek. "Thank you."

She sent an email to her alma mater as soon as Danny left.

* * *

 

They gave her an office, a room meant for two, though Laura did not share the space. They might move someone in, they said, so don't spread out _too_ much.

She spent a semester there with no luck in finding the person her heart insisted she would find there, though she enjoyed teaching and her students seemed to find her engaging, if a bit excitable. And all the while she published articles, digging up little-known, interesting women from the university's deep archives.

A colleague turned her on to Mircalla Karnstein, a countess in the 17th century with a colorful reputation. Laura sifted through the school's sources: news articles describing the countess's latest misadventure, diaries written by women known to be her lovers.

And there was the woman's own diary, filled with tight, near-illegible writing. Laura pored through the book, squinting at the passages, cursing at the author.

But as she pressed on, Mircalla's life unfolded before her: a regular noble girl until 1698, she suddenly developed a thirst for life, collecting artists and writers and thinkers from around the known world. Beautiful men and women flocked to her like moths to a flame, and she took the women to bed and loved them the way a match burns.

By the time of her death in the mid-18th century, she was one of the most gossiped-about women in Europe. Then the Victorian era came along, and with all its prudishness, banished her from the annals of history.

* * *

 

Near the end of the diary, Laura discovered a letter, tucked between its pages. It bore no address.

_My Darling Laura,_

_It has been years since we met, that fateful night. I had suspected--nay, I expected--that the woman I had thought I loved would confess her own feelings to me that night, that she would sweep me off my feet. Perhaps such a thing might have occurred had I not met you, but I would not trade that night's events for the world._

_The moment I held your hand in mine, I knew that what I felt for you was true, and those emotions burning in my heart before were mere infatuation. Perhaps you ask how I could know from one meeting of fingers, but I know some force beyond my comprehension brought you to me that night, and that same force assured me that you held the piece of soul that would complete mine._

_I never expect to see you again. You saved my life and taught me to value my own happiness. I have done my best, my angel. I have sought beauty in the world, in its people, in their minds and hearts and bodies. Yes, I have taken lovers, but do not think me a heartless cad. I cared for them deeply. They shared themselves with me and I with them, and there can be no greater understanding between two people._

_But, darling, in all these years, with all of the wonderful things in the world, there is a sadness that stays with me. I miss you. I miss your smile, your eyes, the odd way you speak. For this is the truth: I have been in love with no one, and never shall, unless it should be with you._

_Yours, in this life and the next,_

_Carmilla_

Laura folded the letter and tucked it between the pages again. So Mircalla had loved a woman named Laura. She tried to smile, imagined she should find the coincidence funny, but instead her lungs contracted and her blood turned to ice.

She returned the diary and darted from the archives, fighting the tears that threatened to fall.

* * *

 

Her office light was on when she returned, and Laura frowned. She crept toward the door, peering through the window. A dark-haired woman puttered around the second desk.

Laura wiped her eyes and stormed through the door. "Who the hell are you?"

The other woman turned, her eyes immediately traveling Laura's entire length, and Laura's scowl deepened.

The woman smiled. "Carmilla. Looks like we're sharing this office, sweetheart."

Laura caught herself. She shook the frown from her face. "Right. Sorry. It's been a rough day."

"I can see that," said Carmilla. Laura hoped her eyes weren't too red.

"Um, so, can we try this again? I'm Laura." She stuck her hand into the air between them.

Carmilla regarded the gesture, eyebrows arched, then shrugged. "Whatever you want, creampuff. I'm Carmilla. Nice to--"

Her hand clasped Laura's and both women gasped. Their eyes snapped together and Carmilla's grasp tightened.

Laura's heart rammed against her ribs, trying in vain to escape its cage.

Then a smile spread across Carmilla's face. "Laura. It's _very_ nice to meet you."

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments. If my first three creampuff week submissions were simple scenarios, today's story and tomorrow's are straight-up WHAT-IF explorations and I'm curious whether you agree with the decisions the characters make. Do we agree that Laura would make this decision, if faced with this choice? I'd love to have a discussion, but any comments are welcome.


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